Manual Labor
by Lady M28
Summary: Bash and Kenna try to make their bedchamber a bit more comfortable. Companion to Adjustment Period, please read that story first. ONESHOT! COMPLETE!


**Manual Labor**

"Could you use some help?" I ask, staring bemusedly at my wife as she grunts and pushes on a chest that doesn't move.

"Well, it would be nice," she huffs, then grins mischievously to let me know she's not reprimanding.

"What would you like done?" I request, taking off my coat, throwing it on the bed. She frowns at me, looking pointedly at the coat.

"I'd like to move the couch in front of the fire, and the chest in front of that," she points.

"Won't that be crowded?" I question.

"We'll move the dressing table to the other side of the room near the foot of the bed," she says with a shake of her head. "That way we clear out a bit of space behind the couch and, if we get rid of the tables and instead find some large floor candelabra, I think we can make up for the light candlesticks provide on the tables."

"Just tell me I don't have to move that gigantic armoire?" I point at the huge thing taking up most of the area near the door. This is just for her. She has a lot of clothes and various types of jewelry and other accessories that she wears each day.

I will admit watching her dress in the morning is amusing - and eye opening. It takes a long time for her to get ready. She's always hunting and scrounging for some little thing that will complete her daily ensemble and make is just how she likes it. Something in her hair, or some sort of bracelet that covers her entire hand. It has been frustrating for her because so many of her things are still in crates and have no place or home in the room.

"No, it's in the perfect place out of the way," she nods.

"Then if you'll set the small tables out into the corridor, I'll move the couch by the fireplace," I instruct.

She whirls, her skirt kicking up, going to the table closest to the door. I move one end forward, then go to the other side moving it. The couch is quite heavy and it takes a few times to get it to where she wants it. She comes back in to get the other table when I lose my grip, dropping the couch on my booted toes. "Shit!" I yell, flopping onto the couch, yanking my boot off to rub my toes.

"Are you alright?" she exclaims, running back into the room. She wrinkles her nose at my foot and the odor from the inside of my boot, but she gets past that and putting a hand on my shoulder before turning to get a cloth and some cool water from the basin to wrap my toes in.

"I can have a servant get some snow to wrap your toes in if they still hurt or are quite delicate?" she offers. I can see there's genuine concern wrapped in her teasing.

"No," I reply. "Just give me a few minutes, I'll be fine."

"I have some small scissors and a file that will take care of the awful state of your feet," she suggests, her eyes widening with innocence.

"My feet are fine!" I exclaim, whipping the cloth off my foot and throwing it toward the hearth. She raises her brow, looking down at my foot.

"Skin tags, brittle cuticles, crusty heels, broken and cracked nails," she counts off. "Really, I know you wear boots all day long, but your feet really don't need to look the way they do. I can help with that, though we'd have to give them a thorough washing before I touch them," she wrinkles her nose again in disdain. "It's probably easiest to get rid of a lot of the problems if we address them right after you have a real bath anyway. That's when my maid takes care of my hands and feet."

"We can discuss this another time but, really, my feet are fine." I shove my unsightly foot back into my boot, hoping to end this conversation. It's strange, or makes me feel strange. She's being nice, in a sort of backhanded way. Perhaps even wifely? I'm not terribly sure how I feel about that.

"Let's get this finished so we can have the room put back together," I suggest. "I don't think I can move the dressing table by myself. It's too wide for me to pick up. I can call for someone to help me," I offer. I've never seen Kenna as the type to do heavy physical activity.

"I'm stronger than I look," she laughs, flexing her arm for me. I see no sign of muscle under her sheer sleeve and raise a brow.

"Fine. I'm not exactly used to physical exertion," she huffs. "But I think I can manage to help getting my dressing table from one side of the room to the other."

"Let's take the drawers out. That will make it somewhat lighter," I suggest, moving to do just that. She comes over to help and we put them over by the hearth, out of our path.

"Let me turn it so we don't have to do it once we've got it over where you want it," I say, shoving it around so the mirror is facing the wall.

"The mirror is really heavy," she complains when she first tries to pick up her side.

"Yeah," I nod. "But there doesn't appear to be a way to detach it. Are you sure you don't want me to find someone who can help?"

"I'll manage," she replies, a determined look on her face. She looks cute with her furrowed brow and set chin, sizing up where she should grab to get the easiest hold and leverage. "Get your side, and let's do this."

I pick up my side and she heaves up hers with a grunt. We begin to shuffle as quickly as we can across the room.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I sing as my toe jams into the chest at the foot of the bed.

"I..." she

"Just keep going," I implore. "I'll worry about the pain in a minute."

We keep moving forward - or backward in her case - and then I feel a hitch, as if she's losing her end. "No! Don't drop it!"

"Ahhh, hurry," I can hear her feet stuttering quickly across the floor, trying to get the dressing table in place as quickly as possible. It drops with a thud, both of us reaching to steady the mirror.

"Last thing, then we're done," she points at the chest that began all of this. "I'll get you some packed snow after we finish to soothe your toes."

I move to do her bidding as she begins to put things to rights. She flits about replacing the drawers, gathering pillows, plumping them, placing them on the couch and bed, then moves the small bench that slides beneath her dressing table.

"My big strong man," she claps, smiling, as I set down the chest before the fireplace. "I knew you could do it!"

_Is she flirting with me?_

"I'm just a common laborer to you, aren't I?" I shoot at her, trying to find words that diffuse my confusion and reaching up to wipe my sweaty brow.

"No," she laughs, her eyes sparkling, her smile wide. She puts a hand on my arm. "You're my Master of Horse and Hunt!" We both burst out laughing, falling back on the couch.

FIN

**Endnotes**:

1) thank you to my beta, **Justcallmesmitty** for checking my punctuation errors. Love you so much!  
2) I wanted my other KB story to be bantery & fun, but then I got the idea to connect the final two scenes and that went out the window, but I still had a jonesing for some KB banter, and got this idea. This directly follows Adjustment Period, it just didn't fit - tonally - with that piece. Hope y'all enjoyed.  
3) thank you to **Tessa**/**frarys** for the icons & banner for this story. Love them!  
4) **disclaimer**: I own nothing, I just like to play.

Comments & reviews are always so appreciated.


End file.
